


On the Wings of a Memory

by AngelofAlderaan



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angel Wings, Best Friends, Gen, Memory Loss, Miracles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-07-27 05:41:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20040841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelofAlderaan/pseuds/AngelofAlderaan
Summary: The world around Aziraphale has changed, but he can't figure out what it is, and only one person can help him discover what has happened.





	On the Wings of a Memory

The bed felt warm, cozy, but somehow wrong. Azieraphale rolled over and stretched. He ached all over, and for the life of him, he couldn't remember how he even ended up in his bed. The angel rarely slept. Groaning, he sat up and rubbed at his temples. His mind was fuzzy and felt like he had been hit by a lorry. He shuffled out of bed, carefully made it, changed, and then made his way to the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee. He made enough for two, not really knowing why, then poured himself a mug. Checking his pocket watch for the time, he realized it was half nine. He paced his way to the door of the bookshop, flipping his sign over and unlocking the door.

  
Most people didn't poke into the shop until ten, so he made himself comfortable by his desk with a book, sipping at his mug. Slowly the fog was lifting, but he still couldn't recall the events from the night before and how he ended up in bed. Had he too much to drink?

  
The door jingled violently and a tall, lanky man sauntered in, head to toe in black, with tight fitting clothes that clung to his lithe frame. Sunglasses covered his eyes and he didn't remove them. He definitely didn't look like he belonged in a bookshop. "Morning, Angel! Coffee on?" He made his way toward the back of the shop. Aziraphale stood up sharply.

  
"Excuse me? Where do you think you are going? This is not a coffee shop!" He followed the man back towards the kitchen, only to find him already drinking a mug he had poured. Something about him was almost familiar, and prickled at the back of the angel's mind. "I would ask you to leave, sir!" He was indignant. The man was even sipping out of his favorite mug!

  
The man looked puzzled. "Angel?"

  
How--how did this person know what he was? Had he heard him wrong? He took in the man's scent: dark fire, cinnamon, and a hint of autumn decay. It seemed almost familiar, and something again tickled at the back of his mind. He reached out with his senses. Aziraphale's eyes went wide. "Why, you're a demon! What do you want?"

  
"Yes, over 6000 years I've been one, thanks for the reminder. I thought we were over this. What is _with_ you this morning?"

Why did this being seem _so_ familiar, both to him and with him? "How do you know me?" That itch at the back of the angel's mind almost became a burn now.

  
The demon set the mug down on the counter, frowning. "Aziraphale, I've known you since the Garden. Don't--don't you remember?" His voice broke, and his expression changed. Pain spread across it for an instant, then anger.

  
A memory from long ago played at the back of the angel's mind, prickling him. A high wall, a flaming sword, a rainstorm. Something about it seemed wrong though, and the more he thought about it, the more his head hurt.

  
The demon put two hands on the angel's shoulders. Instinct said to throw them off, but something stopped the principality. "Listen, I'm gonna go. Does your head hurt?"

  
How would he know this? Had he been watching him all these years? What else did this being know about him? Aziraphale gave a confused nod. "Why, yes."

  
The demon stormed towards the door. "I'll be back. If you see any angel today, I'm begging you, _please_, don't listen to them." He paused at the doorway, and looked back. "I promise I will fix this, and make them pay." Like a storm, he flung the door of the shop open and slammed it shut behind him, the bell nearly falling off the door frame.

  
He heard the rumble of an old car engine start up, and wheels peel away down the Soho streets.

  
Aziraphale stumbled back over to his chair by his desk. By now his head was throbbing with pain. What was that all about? He was more confused than ever. He might want to contact head office to let them know a demon was about and to find out what orders they might have for dealing with him. Except the demon said not to. But he knew demons are not to be trusted.

  
Yet this one seemed different, more, dare he say, human? He sipped at his coffee, put his head in his hands and waited for it to stop pounding.

...

How. Dare. They. Crowley drove the Bentley back towards his flat at breakneck speeds. Fire burned within him. If the forces of heaven thought they could get away with this, they had another thing coming. He swerved to avoid a pedestrian. His mind flashed back to his friend yelling at him from the passenger seat to mind them. They were not taking away the person that meant most to him, he would give his all to fix this. And even if the angel never remembered him again, he would work another 6000 years to forge that friendship once again if he had to. Nothing in Heaven or Hell could stop him.

  
He made it back to the flat in record time, flying up the stairs to his chambers and flinging the door open. He threw his head back and screamed. "Damn you Gabriel! Show your self!"

  
A smartly dressed man all in grey appeared. "Good morning, Crowley. I see you already paid a visit to--" he was cut off by the demon slamming him against the wall, hands at his throat. He would wipe that smug look off his face and paint the walls with it if he had to.

  
"You fix my friend or I swear to all the fires in Hell you will regret the day you were ever created." The archangel choked out a response. Crowley relaxed his grip a bit to let him speak.

  
"There is nothing--nothing that can be done." He slammed the angel harder against the wall.

  
"What do you mean?"

  
"The memory loss is permanent."

  
Relaxing his grip, Crowley looked away. "Permanent?" Deep down, Crowley already knew this. He had heard of cases like this before, in whispers from other demons. Usually it was to angels who volunteered, got too close to a human and wanted the pain of the loss to be removed.

  
Gabriel allowed himself a smirk. "We had to find some way to punish you both for defiance. This way, you suffer, because you're a demon, and we can still use Aziraphale like the good little angel he should be. Things can go back to the way they should be: angel thwarting demon. Only the best part is, he's thwarting his former best friend and he will never know it."

  
"You bastard."

  
"Oh and the best part, you see, Aziraphale is going to start the war you both avoided." Crowley's eyes grew wide behind his shades.

  
"No." Crowley let go of his grip and removed the glasses, defeat filling his eyes. "He would never--"

  
"Oh no, you see, he will, because he will have been ordered to." With a sly smile, the angel disappeared once more.

  
Crowley let out an unearthly howl, slamming his fist against the wall where the angel had just stood. Somehow, this was worse then thinking he had lost Aziraphale in the fire. He had fought so hard to keep the world from falling into flame, just to find the forces of heaven trying to start it up all over again. He couldn't let that happen either. He rushed back down the stairs and bolted to the car.

...

"Gabriel, what an unexpected surprise." Aziraphale stood up from his chair. He would never get used to these sudden visits from the head office. The archangel clapped a hand on his shoulder.

  
"Good morning Aziraphale. I have some news. There have been sightings of a demon in Soho, so I need you to be on your guard. We are getting reports that the hordes of Hell are riled up since the boy Adam did not start the Apocalypse." His face was serious.

  
A memory, fuzzy and vague came to mind of a little boy, an airfield, and Satan's massive form disappearing. Something about the memory seemed wrong though, like details were missing. His head throbbed again. He tried to push it out of his mind. Still, the memory sat there, prickling like an itch he couldn't scratch.

  
"Well, one came by this morning. He seemed to know all about me. It was quite disconcerting." He offered, placing his hands nervously in front of him.

  
Gabriel nodded. "That was him, the demon Crowley. We believe he has been studying you for a long time now. Remember, demons lie, so be aware of what he as told you." The archangel drew a sword out of nowhere and handed it to the blonde being. Aziraphale took it tentatively. "If you see him again, you must destroy him. He has powerful sway over others. If you kill him, you will be stopping a war."

  
The angel swallowed. As much as Aziraphale disliked conflict and could never see himself killing anyone, he loved Earth and his instinct was to protect the humans on it. He looked down at the blade, like the one he gave away in the garden. His head throbbed again, that itching sensation, the form of a memory that would not come. What had that demon said, not to listen to the other angels? He had seemed so insistent, and something about him made Aziraphale want to trust him, even though he had no reason to.

  
The door to the shop flew open, the open signed flipped over to closed, the blinds drew shut and Crowley stood there, wings outstretched like an avenging angel.

  
"Aziraphale." He paused and collected himself. "Angel, I'm begging you, please don't listen to him. Whatever he has said it's a lie."

  
A feeling of deja vu came over Aziraphale. Two sets of wings, a white landscape out of time, a small boy. He rubbed his head, fighting the pain. The form of a memory fighting him.

  
Gabriel laughed lightly. "What? Really, would you even believe that, I mean coming from a demon."

  
Crowley hissed over at him. "Stay out of this!" He walked over to the principality and removed his glasses. "We're on our own side. Remember?"

  
His head throbbed even more, the room almost began to spin, the angel wanted this all to stop. If he could just get the room to stop spinning. "Our own side?" Once again, the edge of a memory pecked at the back of his mind. A bench outside a church.

  
Eyes lighting up, Crowley nodded. "That's right! "And remember, how you gave me that Holy Water, because you didn't want me to steal it? You were so worried I was going to use it on myself." A Bentley, dim neon lights. The memory struggled to break free.

  
None of this seemed right. He looked at Gabriel who gave him a stern look, a look that told him to stand his ground and do his duty. But couldn't, somehow he just couldn't. Over and over, Aziraphale reached back into his mind for thoughts that won't come. The demon's eyes pleaded, eyes older than anything, which he knew better than anything, despite having no memory of them. Aziraphale's head throbbed harder than ever, he just wanted it to stop. He reached for the desk to steady himself a moment, the room was becoming a blur. Everything was spinning and that prickle at the back of his mind became a full blown hammering. He put a hand to his temples, gripping the sword hard in the other. He didn't even feel it ignite. "Just please, this needs to stop, make it stop!"

  
"Angel." He pleaded one last time."Remember, the church--the books. My little miracle."

  
Aziraphale gasped in pain, the whole world went black. Bright wings filled the room. 6000 years of memories flooded back into his mind, and the angel screamed. The Garden, the Ark, the Crucifixion, Rome and years of friendship afterwards. He saw years of quiet moments, dinners at little restaurants, rescues from danger, friendly banter, emotional departures. The Arrangement, a coin toss. Then he was at the church again. A demon with the charm of a snake and a heart of gold was handing him a valise from a pile of rubble. "My own demonic miracle." He was staring after the taller man as he sauntered off. The angel felt his heart fill in a way he never had before. He felt like he would follow him anywhere at that moment.

  
A voice cried out, but this time it wasn't Aziraphale's.

  
Heat seared through Crowley. He looked down to see flames licking at his jacket, burning the fabric but never spreading. The sword had found it's mark. Somehow in the moment, he had thrown himself at Crowley. Aziraphale looked down stunned at what he had done.

  
The demon collapsed, eyes never leaving the angel's face. "Crowley!" He pulled the sword out, letting it clatter to the floor and disengage. He pulled the demon to himself and held him. "Good Lord, what have I done?" he sunk to his knees under their combined weight.

  
Gabriel's face went from being pleased to astonished in moments. "How are you remembering?"

  
Aziraphale, glared up at the archangel. "He reminded me of the moment I realized how much he cared. The moment I discovered he was never my adversary, but my friend." Blood was spreading across the angel's nice clean velvet waistcoat. There was a time Crowley miracled away a stain from his favorite jacket. He pushed this recently recovered memory out of his mind and ignored the stain now growing red across this same coat. "Come on, Crowley, stay with me."

  
The demon's visage almost appeared angelic. "You remember." He coughed out.

  
Tears ran down the angel's cheeks, falling on the black of Crowley's coat. "Of course." He chuckled a little. "You know me too well. It would be books that reminded me." He cradled friend's head in his hands. Crowley coughed out a weak laugh. "Not sure if this can be miracled away this time."

  
"Don't talk like that!" He glared sharply over at Gabriel. "This is all your fault, you fix it."

  
Holding his hands up, Gabriel stepped back. "Nothing I can do. You stabbed him with a flaming sword. That's fatal." Aziraphale knew this. Not just discorporation for a demon, they didn't just give you a new body down there. When you lost it, you were extinct. Aziraphale eyed the sword on the floor. Gabriel saw where his gaze had gone. In a short burst of light, the archangel disappeared.

  
"Coward!" Aziraphale screamed after him. The demon grabbed the principality's hand.

  
"It's okay, Angel. I'm just glad you haven't forgotten me."

  
He could hardly see behind the tears now. "I could never actually forget my best friend." He placed a hand on the demon's wound, and began to pray. He was never very good at this. He had spent years watching humans speak to the Almighty, but when he tried to communicate his thoughts, they never came out right, and he felt rather nervous. This time was different however. He knew he couldn't just couldn't miracle it away, but he held out hope that God would hear the cries of a lowly angel, an angel who had recently defied Heaven and Hell just to save life here on earth to be with a demon. With all his heart he cried out.

_Lord, I beg of you, I have never asked you for much, and have served you all my life. Please, save him. I know he is demon, and the biggest pain I know. But he is the one constant I have had throughout all this time. And he has always been there for me, far more than I deserve. Please, don't take him away. He's--he's my best friend. _

  
The the demon's snakelike eyes closed, wings relaxed.

  
"No, Crowley, stay with me!" He slapped at his face lightly. "Crowley, you idiot, open your stupid eyes! Don't do this to me! You--you can't just leave. You don't get to do that."

  
"Crowley?" He brought the demon close to him and wept. In that instant, he felt his whole world end. He wanted nothing more than do disappear into the cosmos now, to become nothing. He sat there in silence for what felt like an eternity, still as a stone. Tears stained his fair skin, falling steadily onto the body of his fallen friend.

  
A warm sensation filled him, and he looked down at Crowley's body. Time seemed to roll backwards on itself, and he watched and the wound seemed to rewind, the blood retreating back the way it had come from the wound. A once still chest started heaving again, a sharp intake of breath, and eyes shot open. The demon pushed himself up a bit and felt at the wound through the burned shirt. Aziraphale looked at him in wonder. Had God heard his prayers, the prayers of an angel over a demon?

  
"I don't know what you did, Angel, but thank you." Gently he placed a hand on his friend's.

  
The principality shook a blonde head in awe. "That wasn't me." One single tear of joy streaked down his cheek. "That was the Almighty. I'm just a stupid old angel who prayed for a daft old demon. I'm just amazed I was heard."

  
Crowley breathed in, then looked heavenward. "Thank you."

  
The angel helped Crowley to his feet and walked him to the chair. Both beings put away their wings, and Aziraphale pulled up a chair. "Now, let's start this day over, shall we? Can I get you a coffee?"

  
A wide smile filled Crowley's face. "Yes, Angel, I'd like that."


End file.
